


Bled Dry

by MissHilrose



Series: Life After Death [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissHilrose/pseuds/MissHilrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valar Morghulis.<br/>All Men Must Die.<br/>But what happens after death?</p><p>Elia Martell reflects on her Life and Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bled Dry

**Elia Martell**

Elia watched as Rhaegar’s lover stumbled into view, wearing a thin shift soaked with crimson, dripping onto the soft grass below. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. She knew it was not the girl’s fault that her marriage to Rhaegar had failed. He was a dragon, with dragon’s blood, and while he was not insane he was still wild and impulsive while she was more shy and soft spoken. It never would have worked. And yet, because of Lyanna he had never tried.

She had arrived here, shortly after he had, her head crushed and misshapen horrifically, blood streaming from her eye sockets and with the feel of that monster still inside her. He was not waiting. Lyanna Stark was lucky to die in the birthing bed, she knew. She was unlucky not to, they all knew. If she had perished during Aegon’s birth, this war may not have started. Rhaegar and this girl could have gotten married legitimately- despite Robert’s betrothal (nobody could refuse the royal family). It would have been better for her as well. She would have died in pain, yes, but not in the humiliating agony of having her head crushed as she was raped.

She had tried so, _so_ hard for him, for all of them. She should have been happy, the perfect queen. If he had been any other Prince he would have loved her, she thought bitterly. She had learnt her whole life how to be the perfect lady so that by her marriage it was second nature. But it was never enough. All it had done was made sure she ended up shamed, at that blasted tourney, and she had ended up dying a violent death of indignity and agony.

She had given him an heir, Aegon, who was now lost to them, even she had no knowledge of whether he lived or in his innocence had passed straight to the seven heavens. She knew one baby boy had been murdered violently that day and she prayed that the rescue attempt he had heard whispers of was true.

She had also given him another child, a princess. Her Rhaenys had arrived shortly after her, limp with blood pouring out of multiple stab wounds. If she had any thought left to think she would have vomited, as it was her brain pouring out of her head and she had only just enough to complete the will of the gods by dragging herself and her daughter to that door.

It had been agony, she had never been the strongest, she was frail and gentle and was never prepared for such pain but somehow by the will of the gods she had managed to pull herself and her daughter to the door and stumble through. She had transformed back to her best, her head pulled back together and a flowing dornish dress draping her previously naked body, her long curls pinned back by her original simple gold circlet, her the suffocating grip and heavy weight of her gaudy royal crown gone.

Yet she was still alone, in a crowd of people who had, no doubt, seen her horrific demise. Unlike Lyanna would have, she had no family here. She had only Rhaenys and an uncaring absent husband. It had only been on her second eve he had found her and apologised. For what? He had apologised for not protecting her from her murder. He had not apologised for the humiliation of her husband crowing another woman, in public, his Queen of Love and Beauty, leading to servants tittering in corridors and cruel snickers and japes over the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. He had not apologised for not caring about his children as anything more than heirs. She had seen the difference between his relief at Aegon’s arrival, and his joy at Jon’s. He had never apologised for bleeding her dry. Not physically, that had been the Mountain’s fault. He had apologised for nothing, only for something he had no part in. He never apologised for crushing her heart and her dreams and leaving her alone both in life and death, he had never apologised for bleeding her dry mentally and emotionally.

As she watched Lyanna take her final steps to the castle, she made her choice. She would not stick by and face eternity at Rhaegar’s side. Her vows were only until death. For the first time in her life she was free, she realised with a loud, hysterical laugh.

 “Come Sweetling” she gathered up her daughter with a hug and her first true smile since her death “We’re going to bed”. When she woke tomorrow, at a new dawn, she would no longer be Princess Elia, wife of Rhaegar Targaryen, she would be Elia Martell, free as the Dornish sun that had beaten down her skin during her golden childhood and continued to run through her veins.


End file.
